


Sunny Side Up

by kkolmakov (orphan_account), Wynni



Series: Star Trek/Hobbit Bonanza [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek - Various Authors, Star Trek: The Next Generation, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Star Trek References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7787173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kkolmakov, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynni/pseuds/Wynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two conflicting nations of Planet Dathin send their respective royal heirs, Prince P-Helium (AU Fili) and Princess Berylium (OC/fem!Bilbo by Wynni) for negotiations to SS Erebor, the ship of Captain John Thorington (AU Thorin). One nocturnal, another living on floating cities and their life closely linked with solar energy - the two races have more in common than they think, if only they could overcome the hostility built on three centuries of war and complete ignorance regarding their neighbours. The negotiations are promising to be tricky, but at least they will distract Captain Thorington from the fact that his Vulcan ex-wife, Ambassador W'Ren (OC by kkolmakov) is facilitating the peace talks! </p><p>[Hobbit inspired characters in Star Trek universe]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warm Welcome

**Captain’s Log**

**Stardate** **41254.58**

 **_SS Erebor_ ** **is currently in orbit around Dathin, the second planet of the red giant Gerida Three, in order to provide a neutral platform for peace talks between the two sentient species, inhabiting the planet, who have found themselves in a centuries long war.**

**This war, from what little Starfleet has gathered, started three centuries ago, when both races were on a much less advanced stage of technological development, and was caused by the races’ inability to find a diplomatic solution to the tension around shared resources of the planet. The two races, Phoebians and Eddalar, are both felinoid. The Phoebians are diurnal, while the Eddalar lead a nocturnal life. The royal heirs of both sides have agreed to act as ambassadors in the negotiations, and it is Starfleet’s hope that by putting a face on the other race will help the two arrive at a peaceful resolution of the conflict.**

 

Captain Thorington, _SS Erebor_ stood in the transporter room, in the company of his Klingon security officer, Dwal of the House Fund, waiting for the delegation of the Pheobians.

“It’s going to be good to see the boy again,” Dwal growled, and Thorington nodded.

Prince P-Helium of House Adonar, who had served on _Erebor_ for thirty six months five years ago as part of the growing cooperation between Starfleet and the Phoebians of the planet Dathin, had been an excellent officer. Thorington had enjoyed having the young man on his bridge, but like no other he understood duty. The Prince had to return to his planet then, to assist his father in ruling his people. Thorington felt it was only fortunate that P-Helium had been influenced by his experience in the Starfleet to initiate the negotiations between the two races of his home planet. The three century long military conflict was draining the resources of both sides.

Engineer Norison energized the transporter, and Thorington saw the familiar form of the golden maned Prince. He was accompanied by two older Pheobians.

The three visitors stepped down from the transporter, and Thorington stepped forward, without stretching his hand. He remembered how little Phoebians were prone to physical contact. Their skin was photosynthetic, and centuries ago the race had developed a set of strict cultural norms precluding them from proximity and consequently throwing shadow on each other. In the last five centuries their technological advancement made tissue photosynthesis redundant, but Phoebians remained rigid in their customs.

“No shade upon your face!” Thorington pronounced traditional Phoebian greeting, and a wide sincere smile coloured the face of the Prince.

“Long may the light grace you!” he answered, and then stretched his hand to the Captain. Thorington shook it, trying to convey how much he appreciated the young man’s trust.

The bright blue eyes of the Prince shifted onto the Chief of Security.

“Lieutenant Dwal,” he pronounced respectfully, bowing his golden head low. The thick glowing mane wavered, and the braided moustache with ornate beads shook.

“Your Highness,” Dwal rumbled in return. As different as the races were, the two officers had enjoyed cordial camaraderie, secured through many hours of vigorous sparring with battle staffs both were very proficient with.

“My Uncles, Hydrosius and Nitros,” the Prince introduced the two older Phoebians, and decorous bows were exchanged.

“Allow Lieutenant Dorison to accompany you to your rooms,” Thorington offered, pointing at the officer, and the guests followed the man to Deck 12, to the best lit rooms on the ship.

Once the door closed behind them, Thorington asked Norison to dim the lights in the transporter room. It was time to greet the delegation of the second race of Dathin.

The transporter lit up, and four dark silhouettes were seen on the pad. Three were consistent with Thorington’s expectations: they were shorter that Phoebians, long tails, cat like ears, with fluffy tussels. Two were female, and Thorington pushed the inappropriate male appreciation for the curves of the delegates to the back of his mind. The females of the Eddalar were known for their sensual appeal, with their soft purple fur, with dark green stripes, and full, agile bodies. The third Eddalar was male, bulbous, and decorated with voluminous mane. The fourth person on the transporter pad was a female Vulcan.

And interestingly enough, she also happened to be Captain Thorington’s ex wife.

***

Berylium took a long look around the transporter room. There was a large scary looking fellow, and a nicer looking fellow - just as tall and broad, but not quite as frowny - with friendly eyes. Target acquired. Pounce initiated.

“Hiyas!” And she was wrapped around the tall fellow in a bone bending hug, and suddenly she’s on a human male mattress. It was nicely muscley and comfy and warm.

He smelled nice, she nuzzled closer for a better sniff.

“Ooooooh, I approve. He smells very nice, Ambassador W’Ren.” Berylium turned to face her companion who had her head slightly cocked and an eyebrow raised in faint curiosity. Apparently, the traditional greetings were not the norm for _SS Erebor._

“I have to concur, Your Highness.” Berylium’s ears twitched at the lilting cadence of the Vulcan’s voice. She even had the appropriate ears. If only she were a little furrier, she’d invite her to the next Moonsinging. “I have always found Captain Thorington's smell most pleasing.”

“Ooooh! Confidant W’Ren, is this is our dashing Captain? Would they host a Springsinging, do you think? There’s not nearly enough young Eddalar men for the women this year.” Her voice was a bit wistful as she addressed Ambassador W’Ren. Her query was interrupted by the most polite of coughs, and her mattress bounced along slightly.

The scary one was making funny sounds now behind her too. Maybe he wasn’t so scary, maybe he just had a bad case of wrinkled forehead.

“I suggest you release Captain Thorington, Your Highness,” the Ambassador pronounced in an unemotional voice. “And...” She turned to the wrinkly forehead fellow. “Dwal, qaleghqa'mo' jIQuch!” Funny throaty sounds were probably the  forehead fellow’s equivalent of ‘hello.’ No answer followed, just a glare. Now why was the recently snorting scary one now glaring daggers at the Confidant? Did they not do hello’s on his world?

“Oh, certainly, would you like a hand up?” Well, it took two, actually, and thank the Twin Moons she had a low center of gravity, or the good captain might have gone back to the floor. His face was extremely pleasant. There was laughter in the bright blues, and a brow raised. It must be something Starfleet taught their recruits, because it was an almost constant expression on the Confidant’s triangle face.

“Ooooh, you have fur!” Her fingers stroked the neatly groomed beard, but she sighed sadly. “You are not conditioning it well. It feels so coarse. I will send you some from my personal stores. It’ll help, Princess’ promise.” Berylium patted the tall shoulder in front of her in sympathy. He needed a wife. Maybe W’Ren could be convinced to take him back.  

“Your Highness, welcome to _SS Erebor_.” The Captain sounded very nice. Not as growly and rumbly as Berylium liked them, but very velvety indeed. “Allow me to introduce to you my Chief of Security, Dwal, and engineer Norison by the transporter panel.”

Berylium noticed the scary one nod at the name ‘Dwal’ and the engineer wave enthusiastically from behind the transporter panel at ‘Norison,’ which reminded her she had some introductions of her own to do.

“Oh, very pleased to meet you all. May I introduce my sister, Princess Delyrium, and my Uncle Strontium?” As Berylium gestured to each of her family members, they made elaborate bows. “And I believe you are familiar with Ambassador and Princess’ Confidant W’Ren of Vulcan?”

For the first time, the Captain’s gaze fell upon his once wife, and Berylium knew a gonner when she saw one. This would be almost too easy. She’d still meddle, of course, may she lose her stripes forever if she didn’t.

She turned around to consider her Confidant, and the most adorable green blush was traveling neck to eartips, and the ginger fringe set it off divinely. Yep, hardly any challenge at all, but she was still going to have fun getting the two together. They were too adorable not to be a couple.

“Captain.” The tone was even but the colour was betraying the stoic Vulcan.

“Ambassador.” The voice was even raspier than usual, almost hitting Eddalar range, and she noticed his throat bob? It moved quickly up and down. It brought attention to the long line and sheer breadth of that nice smelling neck. The Princess’ eyes cut to her Confidant. Her blush was brighter than ever. Apparently she noticed it, too. This would definitely be a hunt that ended well.

***

W’Ren stood in a lift with Princess Berylium. They were on their way to the first, preliminary meeting with the Phoebian delegation. It was decided that it was to take place between the Prince and the Princess only, as each of them was the initiator of the peace process on their side.

W’Ren was going through the main points in her mind, when the Princess moved closer to her, and pressed her soft shoulder to W’Ren’s.

“Confidant?” The Vulcan turned her head, and met the Eddalar’s large expressive eyes. The tone was uncertain, which told W’Ren that, unfortunately, the topic of the impending conversation had little to do with the planet’s peace initiative.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Thorington is tall, strong, handsome, and he smells good. How did you two meet?”

“I do not see how the discussion of my former relationship with Captain Thorington is relevant to the current circumstances, Your Highness.” W’Ren studied the face of the Princess, trying to determine her state.

“There is a reason, and it is one you’d approve. Please indulge me, Confidant?”

In the two months preceding the beginning of the negotiation Princess Berylium had shown sound judgement and admirable leadership skills, given, masked under unrestrained, overemotional outward behaviour. W’Ren decided leading this conversation could help the Eddalar feel more at ease. In a more balanced state, the female would contribute to the negotiations more efficiently.

“Captain Thorington and I met in the Academy. I was his instructor of the Interspecies Protocol Course. Due to the difference in our life expectancy, eight years after his graduation we could be considered equally mature, and he started his courtship.”

“What was the courtship like? You were married, surely you fell in love, at least a little? Why did you have to leave?” The questions followed one after another, and W’Ren pondered possible answers. She could see the Eddalar thought of marriage in different terms, and delegating the truth was presenting itself challenging.

“Captain Thorington and I were...” Suddenly, W’Ren could not find words. More so, she felt the tips of her ear burn. That was the physiological response she was unfortunately incapable of controlling. “We were a successful couple. We were compatible.” W’Ren ignored the small smile hiding in the corners of the Princess’ lips. Apparently, W’Ren’s blush was noticed. And indubitably, interpreted in an erroneous way. She was in no way affected by this discussion. The blush was accidental.

The Vulcan cleared her throat.

“After several years of marriage, I found us… incompatible emotionally. I left.”

The arms of the Eddalar wrapped around W’Ren’s shoulders, and the soft nose pressed to her neck.

“I’m so sorry, Confidant. It hurt, didn’t?”

“It was only logical...” W’Ren started, only to be shushed by the Princess.

“Oh, quiet you, Confidant. You miss him, I can see. You look sad.”

“I look exactly as always. Vulcans do not express emotions...” W’Ren stoically tolerated the embrace, but she felt she needed to point out the mistake in the Princess’ observations.

“Oh, you don’t have to keep the brave face with me. Your ears are green, and I can see it in the eyes. We see the smallest things, Confidant. We leave in the comfort of the dark, remember? So, tell me, Ambassador, when you knew you’d see him, were you scared?”

“I was not scared. I do not perceive Captain Thorington as a threat.” W’Ren pointedly kept her tone even.

“Not even a tinsy bit? So you weren’t upset when you saw him? Nothing stirred? C’mon, Confidant, Vulcans don’t lie.” The wide open golden coloured eyes, with large pupils, lights of the lift reflected in them, were right in front of W’Ren’s face.

“I knew it would be hard,” W’Ren whispered, and felt her cheeks burn now as well. “There are… sensations that are amiss in my life now that he is… absent.” W’Ren felt the familiar increase in heart rate, and she habitually pressed her palm over her heart, below the ribs. She knew, of course, the words were nothing but a metaphor, but there was a feeling of a void under her hand. “What does my… discomfort have to do with today, Your Highness?”

“How did you find the courage to do what needed doing, even facing your worst fears? I need that now.” The long fluffy lashes trembled, while small strong hands were clutching W’Ren’s elbow, cutting out the blood circulation. The Eddalar needed to be calmed down.

“What fears would that be, Your Highness?” Facing her _pon farr_ alone again was W’Ren’s biggest fear, but surely, it had nothing to do with the situation at hand. The Vulcan carefully suppressed the memories of two years ago, of the pain, and the despair, in the silence of her new home, the one she had built for herself after she had left _taluhk John._  No, not _taluhk John_ anymore. Captain Thorington.

“You left your mate, but found the courage to face him again, how?”

“I meditated, and reminded myself of all the reasons that led to my current position. Logical consideration is always the shortest path to acceptance,” W’Ren spoke slowly, and the psychosomatic symptoms - constricted throat, chest tightness, and light tremour in the right hand - had eased. “What logical consideration can you apply to your preoccupation, Your Highness?”

“Long have our two peoples fought, but never face to face. They are the boogeymen, the scary stories to make younglings behave, the only proof to the defilers and killers the armor brought home as trophies hung over the hearth to prove one more nightmare had ended. Now I must walk in there and face the stuff of centuries worth of nightmares, and wrangle a peace that would allow my people to survive.” Emotions splashed in the eyes of the Princess, and W’Ren considered the words.

“As you have just pointed out, Your Highness, you know nothing of the people of the floating cities. Your races had no direct contact, and whatever perception of the other had been formed needs to be abandoned at this stage. Only unemotional, sound judgement and openness will benefit these negotiations.”

“Not knowing them makes them only scarier. How do I face what I have only seen labours of? The destruction, the deaths, the broken families?!” The Princess moved closer, and at that moment the lift arrived to Deck 7, and the doors opened, making her halt her words.

Captain Thorington stepped in and then lifted his eyes.

“Your highness. Ambassador.”

W’Ren’s sensitive ears caught the slight irregularity in his breathing. The skills of observing and evaluating him had returned with unexpected speed. Her eyes quickly ran him over, noting the two inch increase in hair length, doubled volume of grey hair on his temples, and additional stone of weight in comparison to their last encounter five years ago.

He slightly bowed to the Princess.

“I hope you’ll be pleased with the room we have chosen for this meeting, Your Highness. It has a moveable shield over the glass roof, and we’re hoping both sides will find comfort in it.”

“Oh, you are a darling!” The Princess proceeded in her usual manner and embraced the Captain. W’Ren suppressed the memories of how it felt to be in this very position. The Eddalar was only two point three inches shorter than her. The location of the arms was almost identical. Given, W’Ren had never made him stumble backwards from the force of the embrace. Except the three times when she would surprise him with embrace, and the seven times during intimacy, her mind corrected her evaluation. W’Ren made a mental note to spend additional hour in meditation in the evening.

“Your consideration and help is truly appreciated, Captain. Thank you, from myself and my people.” A deep inhale and a quick sideglance from the Princess prepared W’ren for the next remark. “No wonder the Confidant suggested you! She simply could not stop talking about you!”

“That is an exaggeration,” W’Ren felt necessary to point out.

Thorington, still in tight embrace of the Princess, her cheek pressed to his chest, exactly between the pectoral muscles, gave out a small chuckle. W’Ren could never understand his sense of humour.

“I reckon. I’m sure you’ve only mentioned me twice a day.” The familiar expression of smile hiding in his eyes made W’Ren frown. She could not understand his previous remark.

The Princess stepped back from him, and smoothed down the embroidered bodice of her layered lilac dress.

“Well, we are ready. Are you?” she asked, and W’Ren was shocked to realise she had just regressed to the habits of five years ago. Since she didn't understand the apparent joke, her eyes flew to Thorington, in search of explanation and guidance, as they always had when humour or social intricacies were escaping her.

Judging by dilated pupils and a shallow inhale, he had noticed her inappropriate behaviour as well.

And that was when the blast of the explosion shook the lift, and the world grew dark.


	2. Keep Me in the Dark

Berylium slowly came to in the middle of mayhem. Smoke and fire seemed to box her in on all sides, through the shifting flames, she could see Thorington. His hands were occupied with a very limp, very knocked out W’Ren. She did not look to be in a good way. Bloodstains covered her clothing, and the green blood seemed even to be trickling from the corner of her mouth. Thorington was losing his bottle, if the grief visible on his face was anything to go by. He was all but babbling a steady stream of pleas for her to be alright as well as commanding her to gain consciousness and heal, dammit. At some point, he of course had regained enough of himself to bellow into his comm for a medic and rescue.

Berylium could tell the other two had a mostly clear shot at getting out. She couldn’t say the same for herself. The kaboom strong enough to knock a Vulcan unconscious had left her hemmed in on the far side, and what wasn’t blocked by fallen beams was full of sparking wires and sputtering fires.

“Hold tight. We will get you out,” Thorington yelled to her, his eyes trained on the Vulcan.

“Preferably before I’m barbecued?”

“Preferably.” The wry twist of the lips as he answered her was cute, she noticed, just as his attention shifted with W’Ren’s partial return to consciousness.

“Ashayam, are you with me?” He cradled her delicate face in his oversized hands, worried gaze scanning over all her injuries yet again.

 _“Taluhk John…_ _Taluhk nash-veh k’dular…”_ the Vulcan muttered, her eyes unfocused.

“Later, _ashayam_.” Thorington pressed a long finger to her lips. “Don’t strain. But hold the thought.”

“ _Shok-tor..._ ” The Vulcan’s hand flew up, to the dark fur on the Captain’s jaw.

“Now you’re in the mood, woman?” The frown didn’t match the flirty words.

Berylium had both hands fisted around her tail, twisting. One, to keep it out of the many sputtery sparking fires around her, and two, watching those two? Even Grandma Estorium’s romantic tales paled in comparison. She’d be sharing this story around hearthfires for decades to come. That’s if she survived this mess.

Her appreciation of their tender moment was cut short, sadly. The fire suppression systems came online just as quick hands tugged both Thorington and W’Ren out, and it’s lights out. All she could hear and see were a few random sparks that left white starburst afterimages on her eyes. But now she could hear someone else into the elevator. Her sensitive ears caught the sound of a large body carefully moving in.

“Who’s there?” Berylium’s eyes strained, but even as enhanced as an Eddalar’s were, total dark left nothing to work with.

“Help.” The voice was most probably male, but anything was possible in space, right? “Trying to move these beams to get you out.” As if on cue, she heard the unmistakable sound of a beam shoved and toppled. The grating sounded like painful music to her sensitive ears.

“Good luck, I can’t do squat with them. Be careful, though, some are still electrified.”

“Good to know.” The following low hiss and expletive meant he either found one indeed electrified, or one that was still hot from the fires. “Keep talking. I need to know where you are.”

“So, you an officer?”

“Trained under Thorington.”

“Oooh! Goody. Hey, can you tell me what _shock-tor_ is?”  

She did not expect the rumbly laugh, or how good it sounded to her.

“Tell me. When and where did you hear that?” She swore she could practically hear him smiling. Maybe he’d be an accomplice to her grand plan for those two.

“Just now, W’Ren said it to Thorington. What’s it mean?”

“Has our Ambassador lost her decorum in all this danger? Hardly possibly, it would seem.” Berylium laughed at the question.

“Only because she was thoroughly knocked out and woozy.” The laughter finally weakened her knees to the point she slid down the wall, still giggling. “Now, you gonna tell me what _shock-tor_ means, or no?”

“That would be a Vulcan equivalent for...” Oooh, there was that delicious rumbly laugh again. “Locking of lips.”

“I knew it!” She actually heard him jump at her enthusiastic shout. Something hit the floor, and he carried on in an unfamiliar language for quite a bit. “Hey, you okay over there?”

“A beam slipped. I will survive.” The dry reply was accompanied by the sound of exertion and screeching metal.

“Breathing there?” Berylium asked; and just then, before the velvet voice in the dark could reply, another explosion rocked their precarious position. Berylium felt the lift drop a few feet, as everything shifted, and she heard her rescuer bellow in pain.

“Officer?” There was no reply, simply heavy breathing in the dark. She waited. "If you don’t answer me, I’m coming to you.”

“Stay. A beam fell. Right now, I’m pretty sure I’m what’s keeping the ceiling from caving on us.”

The lift shuddered again. Berylium started whimpering.

“Now where has your spirit gone, Princess?”

“I think it booked it the moment the lift slipped. We’re going to fall. I hate falling.”

“We will not.” Despite the confidence lacing each word, Berylium could hear the strain, probably from keeping the ceiling off them.

“Rumblyvoice, we’ve already fallen a few feet. What’s gonna keep us from splatting?” She knew she was getting catty, but she tended to lash out when strained, and her fear of falling was nothing to sneeze at.

“We’re on the _SS Erebor._ I have full confidence in our Captain. He will get us out. Shall I entertain you until he does? Perhaps translate some of the other Vulcan terms you overheard? Perhaps share the ones she was muttering as I pulled them out?”

“That was you? Share away!”

The gorgeous voice in the dark got quiet for a moment, leaving Berylium on curiosity’s edge, before he finally spoke again.

“I believe disclosing too much would be insensitive.” Was he kidding her? He had to be kidding her. In fact, there was a decidedly cheeky lilt to the tone he was using.  “But I believe our Ambassador will have to face her former spouse enlightened regarding her still present amorous feelings when she returns to her senses.”

“Awww! Wait, what?” Berylium was confused.

“Perhaps I should mention the Captain is proficient in Vulcan?” Was that a chuckle? Good grief, it was, and she could feel it shiver its way right down to her toes.

“Oh, she will? Sweet! Seriously, those two belong together if ever I saw a perfect pair.” Berylium had folded herself comfortably on the floor. No use being uncomfortable if she was about to meet her Maker, right? She was even stroking her own tail back down from the earlier twisting she had done.

“So, Rumbly-voice-in-the-dark, what’s your story?”

“I ran away to space to get away from family expectations. And you?”

“Nope, nope, nope. Pretty sure you already know all about me. Didn’t you Starfleet peoples have to endure a whole debriefing about the warring tribes or whatever? Nope, you know about me. So, fair’s fair, I want to know about you.” Her devious grin felt so wide, she was sure he could see it in the dark.

“Not much to tell, really. Left the family, joined Starfleet.” A heavy sigh filled the compartment. The next words sound as if dragged out by force. Her ears perked up, just what great secret was he about to share? “I realised I could use what I learned in Starfleet to help them change, and went back.”

“You went back? But then how are you here now?” Before he could answer her, emergency lights came on with an audible buzz, and she got her first look at her rescuer and companion in the dark.

He was tall. He was broad. He was golden and glorious.

He was also wearing the all too recognizable garb of a Phoebian. Berylium could feel even her hind heart falling all the way to her toes.

“No! Absolutely no!” she hollered, wincing away.

And then she could feel anger rising. Anger was good, anger could keep the hurt at bay.

“No! No, no-no-no-no-no-no. No!” She turned her face to the wall, so she wouldn’t have to watch his stupid perfect face and stupid broad shoulders hold up the stupid beam that was keeping the ceiling from falling on them both.

Silence filled the compartment until the squeal of the doors being forced open.

“P-Helium!” Thorington, with a deep cut untended still across his cheek, took in the situation in a glance. He turned to call over his shoulder, “Get a brace in here, the ceiling’s collapsing!” He took in Berylium’s bristly posture against the wall, and the flat expression on P-Helium’s face. “I see you’ve met, then.”

***

Sickbay had special bays, who knew? Berylium was situated in a dim corner, where she could watch the whole place. P-Helium was currently occupying a bed under bright lights. W’Ren on a bed in normal lighting, with Thorington apparently glued to her hand, and others in assorted bays under assorted lights depending on what that crewmember or passenger needed to speed up the healing process. The twin explosions had claimed about a hundred injured. Of those roughly hundred, twenty eight of them found themselves in this medbay.

Berylium wondered why she was even here. There was nothing they could do for hurt feelings. However, she was thankful she was here, since it allowed her to see for herself the care W’Ren was receiving.

Truthfully, if expressions were the measure of injuries, Berylium would guess Thorington were worse off than W’Ren. There were deep furrows in his brow, and Berylium was pretty sure humans were supposed to be a pinkish color, not grey. He had not left W’Ren’s side since her coming here. He hadn’t washed, eaten, nor drunk. He’d simply sat there, holding her hand and talking softly to her the entire time. Not for the first time, she wondered why they’d ever separated in the first place.

***

Thorington perked up, and started watching W’Ren’s face, and Berylium shifted forward to see whatever it was the Captain saw. W’Ren’s eyes, her lovely, Eddalarish, wonderful, manyfired colored, still alive eyes, fluttered.

“I am significantly better, Captain. I believe you can release my hand now.” The Vulcan sounded croaky, but already very strict.

“Oh shut up, woman.”

The Captain’s gruff voice full of pent up feelings gave little warning to the kiss he swooped down to claim. Surprisingly, the Vulcan didn’t seem to protest.

Berylium, under normal circumstances, would have started cheering. She glanced over to the brightly lit bay where the reason she didn’t sat.  He seemed to be regarding the two lovers, his face as lifeless as the mask on Uncle Strontium’s mantle. Berylium narrowed her eyes as she regarded the epitome of all things wrong in her people’s world.

Despite being in a small area full of snapping sparks and fire, his hair was as neatly braided as if he’d just come from his quarters. She noticed even the moustache he sported was neatly braided. The moment was interrupted by the arrival of a medic at his elbow. He sat still during the scan, but winced away from the hypospray. Were the stories true? Were they truly living robots?

 


	3. Step Forward, Two Backwards

The door chimed, and Thorington let his visitor in. Somehow he had no doubt whom he’d see. W’Ren, with her rigid posture, and impeccable Vulcan attire, walked in. For some her face would look calm and emotionless. He could just imagine her internally screaming, mentally running in circles, and flailing her arms.

“Captain?” Oh, so no _taluhk John_ now?

He invited her to sit with a wave of his hand, but she remained standing. Her spine was as straight as his ship’s delta wing. He tried to suppress a smirk, but he knew she could see right through him. The slanted eyebrow rose one tenth of an inch.

“Would it be a convenient moment, Captain, to discuss the diplomatic situation and the incident in the lift at this time?”

If she put any more emphasis into the words ‘diplomatic’ and ‘incident,’ a cup on his table would crack.

“Please, do sit down, Ambassador. I have just finished the debriefing with my officers.”

She slowly lowered herself on the chair across from him, and the narrow hands lay on the knees, perfectly parallel to the stripes on the trousers.

“The incident in the lift was clearly an act of sabotage aimed to impede the peaceful negotiations,” W’Ren started, and he pulled an exaggerated expression of polite interest on his face.

Judging by the continuous elevation of the eyebrow, she noticed. And didn’t appreciate. Good. Shaking her out of her Vulcan composure was the favourite pastime of his. Besides couple others, currently unavailable to him. Since taking bubble baths with one’s ex wife, nibbling at her pointy ears, and murmuring silly nonsense in the said pointy ears, was sort of unconventional.

“I do not believe that the Phoebians, who are most likely to be placed responsibility upon, are in actuality the assailants,” W’Ren continued, and he picked up his cup and saluted her to express his agreement. And to irritate her, since a wink he added made her almost twitch. Almost. He decided to add a tongue click to the next one.

“Considering that His Highness, Prince P-Helium risked his life and assisted Princess Berylium,” the Vulcan continued stubbornly - did she know her ears were approaching the colouring of an English cucumber? “We can hope that the Eddalar would accept his behaviour as a proof of innocence of the Phoebian delegation.”

Thorington closed his lips around the rim of his cup, and gave her the look. It was their look. It meant ‘you’re talking too much, and again in your monotonous Vulcan manner, while there’s a nice comfy sofa right over there.’

“I have to emphasize how wise Prince P-Helium’s behaviour was, which ensured…. Would you stop that already?!”

And snap. Cheeks flaming with green, eyes like Klingon daggers, hands clenched on her lap. The Vulcan was cooked.

“Pardon?” Thorington drew out, and carefully placed the cup on the saucer.

The composure was back, and the long fingers relaxed on the bony knees. Yes, they were bony. Did it prevent him from fancying the said knees? Of course not.

“I would suggest you concentrate your attention of the situation at hand, Captain.” Oh, the Vulcan sarcasm. Some thought it didn’t exist, but Thorington knew better. “Any other topics you seem to be willing to discuss is certainly of less urgency currently.”

“Would that be the topic of you calling me _tal-kam_ and making kissing noises?”

“I have not made..!” The outcry of indignation stuck in her throat, and she coughed, unsuccessfully hiding the squeakiness of her voice. He let her make more of her adorable noises, which reminded him of his Nana’s cat choking on a furball.

He drank his tea; she was gathering her bearings.

“I do not understand your behaviour, Captain,” she finally postulated. “Not only our previous romantic association is of no importance at the moment, I also do not understand why you would change your attitude towards me. The last time we met - and I am referring to our accidental encounter at the trade conference on Betazed - you shunned me, which was consistent with the status of our relationship. While presently, you are demonstrating behaviors and emotions, which I do not understand, and which you - when I had expressed the confusion regarding the similar ones during the first and second years of our intimate association - have previously determined as ‘flirtation.’”

If Vulcans had made the quotation mark signals in the air, she’d have definitely curled her fingers now.

It was a good question, of course. They were indeed divorced. And it had been her fault. And he was supposed to hate her, just as he thought he had before.

And yet at the moment… he didn’t.

She was staring at him with her cat like eyes, a small crinkle between the Vulcan eyebrows, and he suddenly felt sorry for her. He knew how painful such situations were to her.

“Maybe I just thought you didn’t...” He cleared his throat. “Didn’t love me anymore.” Or at all. “But you said you did, then in the lift... and Vulcans don’t lie.”

She lifted one eyebrow, and tilted her head. He could just imagine the cogs swirling in her straight fringed head.

“What do my emotions towards you have to do with our relationship?” Thorington guffawed.

“Only a Vulcan would ask that.”

“I am a Vulcan,” she answered, and the eyebrow lift and the head tilt intensified.

“Indubitably,” Thorington answered.

“I never perceived my feelings towards you as a part of the issues we encountered in our union. They were never lacking. I have loved you, and it has not changed.”

“Yeah, you just cheated on me, and even after I offered to forgive you, you still insisted on termination of our marriage. So very loving of you!” Thorington regretted the venomous words as soon as they fell off his lips.

He could almost hear the shell around her emotions shutting like a Solosos III clam.

“I suggest we return to the discussion of the negotiations, Captain.” Her tone was even and dispassionate again. “We need to plan the meeting of the sides, and the security measures are to be taken now, as well as the steps towards the investigation of the incident.”

Thorington sighed and nodded. His mood was now sour, and he pushed the cup away from him on the table. Maybe she was right, it was easier to stop a three century long war, than discuss failed marriage with one’s Vulcan ex-wife.

***

Berylium sat hunched in the center of her sleeping cushion, burrowed into her comforters, but her tail, hanging out, lashed wildly back and forth. The sound of a pillow meeting an untimely end could be heard somewhat through the layers of the covers. The deedledeet of the door chime barely made an ear twitch. She considered ignoring it for a moment, but just a moment.

“Come on in!” None of her usual exuberance accompanied the words, and Berylium did not emerge from her bedding when W’Ren entered her suite.

“Your Highness, I was informed that you refused to have a meeting with Prince P-Helium. I do not understand your attitude. The man has saved your life, and I assumed it would make you more willing to start the peace negotiations.”

Berylium studied W’Ren, probably the only person she trusted aside from her family. She stood there, clothing immaculate and precise. Her hair gleamed in the low light of her suite, picking up odd colors from the low lamps brought to make the place feel more at home. A quizzical brow arched questioningly over eyes Berylium thought more than once would be more suited to one of her people, the changing colors pretty and unfathomable. Just looking at her standing there all practical and sensible made all the feelings boil the hotter. Berylium flounced out of her bedding and stalked towards her, words bubbling as she went.

“Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps I was supposed to feel so beholden to my rescuer I just gave everything away in these talks. So, I stay here, and what we have stays safe. Sensible?”

“Are you suggesting that the incident in the lift was a conspiracy from the Phoebians to ensure your feeling indebted to Prince P-Helium?”

“Ask me if I can afford not to consider it a real possibility! Eddalar are feelings. Even Phoebians know this. They are like machines, and I bet they are not shy to use our warmth against us! He let me assume what I wished in that lift. He made me like him! He joked! He… chuckled! Until the lights took that option from him. How does that look to you?” Berylium paced, her tail lashing with the ebb and flow of her fears, ears laid low, and her hands gesturing wildly with her thoughts.

A claw caught on a wall hanging, and Berylium nearly pulled the whole thing down getting free. Inspecting her hand, she absently pulled a strop out of her belt pouch, and worked her claws over.

“Even if you acquired a faulty image of a Phoebian in that lift, Princess, it is still information. Whichever way the knowledge is received, it is still better than ignorance, especially in a situation of negotiations.”

“That is assuming I’m in any fit state to make use of that knowledge? I need a way to calm down, look at this as you do. How?”

“Would having your family with you help you concentrate on the negotiations?” Confidant proposed, in the same infuriatingly calm tone. “I understand you are apprehensive to stay alone with Prince P-Helium. Perhaps, the presence of your uncle and your sister could make you feel more comfortable.”

“That might work, keep my attention on why I’m here, not how very much I’d like to claw his eyes out, that lying liar that lies.” Berylium squeaked and looked down at her now filed to nothing claw. The strop had hit tender skin. She carefully put the strop away, and picked up a smaller pillow to knead.

Of course, when she looked down, it was the golden pillow, the same shade as his magnificent mane… And suddenly the room exploded in feathers. They rained on the head of a completely calm Vulcan, and one sat on the turned up nose.

“Sorry?” Berylium mumbled, and observed the most astonishing spectacle: a Vulcan blowing a feather off their nose in the most nonchalant manner. Air puffed, the feather travelled down. The Vulcan stayed as stone faced as before.

“Shall I inform Captain Thorington and the Phoebian delegation that we are willing to proceed to the next step of negotiations in the presence of both royal families?”

“If we must.” Berylium sounded as enthusiastic as the lucky albino skabrit sacrifice must have when facing the Altar of the Twin Moons centuries ago.

Berylium watched the Vulcan nod with dignity, unaware of one stray feather that was sticking out of her head like the crest of a courting stardancer bird. Berylium stifled a snigger that threatened to escape her despite her well deserved funk. The Ambassador turned around to take her leave, and Berylium smothered a laugh with both hands. There was another feather hitching a ride on the Confidant’s gently swaying backside. That would definitely capture the Captain’s attention and keep it.


	4. Food For Thought

P-Helium sat straight and proper at the table, watching the unfolding farce before him. It was sheer madness. Somehow, the old Eddalar had prompted his uncle, his staid, proper, and always decorous uncle, into growling. He’d never heard him growl, not even during the most trying parliaments.The old Eddalar shouted an inventive insult at his uncle, and P-Helium had to hide his smile. He knew that one was going into his uncle’s collection, to be pulled out sometime on some idiot trying again to pass something that had already failed nineteen times. It would be delivered in a cool cultured tone unrecognizable from the current snarling shout, but the insult would be the same.

It started P-Helium thinking in a new direction, one that startled him. His Uncle Hydrosius had started friendships before over less wit. P-Helium would have to inquire subtly, because any direct questioning would be met with a swift denial. There was even a chance that, because it was denied, Hydrosius follow through and stifle a friendship before it could start.

A friendship with an Eddalar... World peace had been started on less. His uncle was actually bent over the table now, shoulders weighed over firm fists while his decorous voice firmly (and more loudly than normal) denounced whatever nonsense the old Eddalar had accused them of doing.

P-Helium’s eyes cut to the furious, quite frankly fabulous, Princess Berylium. Her eyes flashed with passion, and her chest heaved with indignation. She had surprised him in the lift with her ability to laugh at danger, and be frank about her fears without letting them control her. A woman capable of that was well worth the knowing. P-Helium really wanted to get to know her, but would she allow him the chance? If the debacle this peace talks were devolving into was any indicator, that answer was a resounding ‘no.’ So he clung to the signs of his uncle’s growing respect for the old Eddalar as proof of a ‘maybe.’

“Honourable Chancellor Hydrosius, as you’re surely aware, Viceroy Strontium, although speaking in different terms from what your nation would apply to the question, nonetheless raises a reasonable line of discussion.”  Between Ambassador W’Ren’s light colored straight mane, hair, he reminded himself, and the brilliant cat eyes, she could almost be Phoebian, except for the missing tail. Her voice was as reasoned as Uncle Hydrosius’, and her intellect more keen than a laser scalpel. That Berylium had named her Confidant had surprised him. Apparently, Eddalar valued much of the same in a person as Phoebians did. His hope rose at the thought. “The ongoing conflicts on the border territories should be addressed as soon as possible, and a ceasefire has to be achieved while these negotiations take place.”

“My concerns, Ambassador W’Ren, are what methods will be put in place to monitor the accords.” Hydrosius’ meticulously maintained thick brows rose in question. “I’ll not have our honor besmirched, because some undereducated Eddalar went and got himself killed poking about our machines of a night, and blaming it on yet another ‘raid.’”

“Why you puffed up dandelion! No Eddalar would want to go poking about your infernal machines.” Now P-Helium was impressed. Not only had the princess taken time to learn about the introduced fuzzy yellow flowers that had sprung up all around the Federation Spaceports on Dathin, but she had learned how to use it correctly as an insult. She was curious, intelligent, and inventive. Yet more reasons to admire the young princess, as far as P-Helium was concerned.

At that point, the insults flew thick and fast from one end of the table to the other. P-Helium wondered what Thorington thought of all this, or Ambassador W’Ren, though he really didn’t expect the Vulcan to give her thoughts away. Still, it was better than watching the shouting match.

Ambassador W’Ren, as he expected, was giving nothing away. Her face was a study in cool detachment. He actually envied her poise and composure. Phoebians greatly prized dignity, and Vulcans had mastered it. What raised his curiosity was the tips of her ears were slightly green.

He turned his attention to the captain, who seemed to be studying the shouting match with something caught between amusement and horror. P-Helium was still watching Thorington when the captain’s gaze slid sideways to Ambassador W’Ren, and that brow cocked in that manner he had grown very familiar with during his stay on the Erebor five years ago. No wonder her ears were blushing. The raised eyebrow was part of a crinkly eyed, wide grinned look that admitted said viewer to whatever joke the captain was enjoying or about to perpetrate.

The last time P-Helium saw that particular expression, the good captain walked off with a hundred year old bottle of Earth wine he had won from Harry Mudd IV in a friendly game of poker. It was seen again that evening when the captain escorted W’Ren to quarters for a quiet evening alone putting together a jigsaw puzzle and drinking said Earth wine. Judging by their demeanor as they entered the turbolift, P-Helium imagined the puzzle was doomed to be completed at some later date. The bottle of wine was never heard from again.

P-Helium wondered precisely what it might mean, but just then, palms soundly slapped the table, and an angry voice raised over the others quickly caught his attention.

“You sorry excuse for a sunsucking mugwhump! I’ll show you uneducated hyperemotional trollop!” Princess Derylium was coming over the table, headed straight for Uncle Nitrous, both her uncle and Berylium were trying to hold her back, but apparently, the adrenaline fueled strength held as true in the Eddalar as most mammalians. Negotiations for the day were over.

***

Thorington watched the situation that had been slowly heating up like a malfunctioning warp drive finally explode. Both delegations were still on their sides of the table - Phoebians in the well lit one; Eddalar in the shaded one - but there were already claws scraping on the table surface. It was of course the kin of Princess Berylium who were closer to inflicting damage to the Bajoran mahogany, since the Phoebians were still sitting with the usual cold expressions on their golden faces. Their whiskers were twitching though, and the ears were flattened on the manes. Thorington had served with P-Helium, he knew what was next: the Phoebians would either rise and leave in complete silence, which would be their understanding of the greatest insult they could offer; or if they felt offended enough, they would retaliate with violence. Due to their emotions generally being well-contained, they only participated in a combat when they thought it a matter of honour. And then they were deadly.

Thorington always preferred P-Helium on his away team. The young man was most proficient with all types of heavy, one edge blades; deadly with a staff and spear; and as any practical Starfleet officer, he made sure his aim with phaser was impeccable. Claws and teeth were used as well, but of course only as the last resort. But that one Romulan who was now missing a large chunk from his nose and sported a few additional folds on his forehead wouldn’t argue that even with no weapon in his hands P-Helium shouldn’t be annoyed.

While his Uncles were already at the stage of baring their teeth, the Prince himself was strangely calm. Or was he… distracted? Thorington quickly looked at W’Ren. She was still slightly greenish - he had overdone it with teasing her - but when their eyes met, she gave him a small nod and shot a quick look at the Princess. So, even the Vulcan noticed. Considering that she would normally perceive sexual tension in the room only if the couple was touching each other’s sensitive parts, whatever their species considered such - there was clearly something going on between the royal heirs. That could be the best of help in the peace initiative - or the worst that could have happened.

And now Princess Delirium was wailing something about an 'uneducated, hyperemotional trollop' - although if Thorington recalled right, ‘uneducated’ wasn’t aimed at her, ‘sensitive’ was used instead of ‘hyperemotional,’ and ‘trollop’ was her own invention. Some deep rooted complex was probably playing out, Thorington thought with an exasperated sigh; and he rose to address the situation.

“I suggest we take a break and have some refreshments,” W’Ren’s calm voice carried over the hollering, hissing, and spitting, and the Vulcan authoritativeness won over the two sets of emotions, both boiling, half of them suppressed. The round feline heads turned to her like by a command. “I think it is time to call your respective staff with the meals both delegations have transported with them.”

In fifteen minutes the two groups were in the opposite corners of the conference room, clearly keeping as much distance from the other as possible, each near a table of their own, faces insulted, eyes hungry. Thorington and W’Ren met in the middle of the room, in front of the food replicator. She held a cup of her usual plomeek soup in her hand, and Thorington wrinkled his nose theatrically.

“You have all dishes of galaxy to choose from, and you’re going with your wallpaper glue again,” he joked, and saw confusion in her slanted eyes.

“Why would one glue paper on a wall?” she asked, and he chuckled. She was clearly exhausted and on the edge. In normal circumstances she would play deaf instead of asking.

“Old earthen custom. Long abandoned.” He ordered his favourite Andorian tubers, and joined the Vulcan by the wall. He didn’t fail to notice that she was keeping distance from both parties. He’d never seen her behave this way. Making small conversation with both delegations was - as she would of course inform him - logical; and yet she seemed to try to avoid any interaction. “What is it, W’Ren?”

“Captain, I have a suspicion that the attempt on Princess Berylium’s life has been committed by a member of one of the delegations, and possibly by a person or persons currently present in the room.”

“Why?” Thorington asked, and then waved a fork at her. “Oh don’t say it. Because it’s only logical, isn’t it?” She gave him a questioning look, and he chuckled. If he didn’t know that there was a self-awareness and a sense of humour under the green-blooded pointy-eared facade, he would never guess. “I had the same thought though. The timing was impeccable. But on the other hand, a cowardly explosive device doesn’t ring true to the Phoebian character.”

“Indeed.” The Vulcan studied Prince P-Helium’s delegation, with their proud postures, and mannered eating.

Thorington then looked at the Eddalar. They had cheered up significantly, now that they were happily crunching some deep fried meat. The cuisine of the two races seemed predictably similar - rather appetising to Thorington's senses, actually, with aromatic spices and some golden roasted vegetables on the side - but the manners differed radically. While the Phoebians were almost there with the Vulcans with their avoidance of touching the food, and the solemn expressions while eating; the Eddalar were visibly enjoying their meal, smiling and chatting.

“You should try the Eddalar food, Captain. You will mostly likely find it pleasing.” W’Ren’s voice was just even as usual, but something made Thorington look at her sharply.

“Have you find it pleasing?” he asked, and she took a small sip of her soup.

“No. For a Vulcan, it is excessively… stimulating.”

“Stimulating?” Thorington lifted one eyebrow. If Vulcans could look shifty, this one surely would right now.

“There’s a certain root vegetable, similar to earthen beetroot, that Eddalar use in their cooking, in approximately 78% dishes.” W’Ren’s nose twitched. He forgot how cute it looked!

“Are you saying you got bladdered on sucrose while on a diplomatic mission on their planet?” he asked with an innocent expression, and the nose twitched again.

“The information regarding the nutritional value of the provided dishes was insufficient, and no research...”

“Yeah, yeah. You got drunk on a diplomatic mission, don’t sugarcoat it, W’Ren.” He gave her a side glance, and yes, there was the green on the cheekbones.

“I was fortunate to notice the first symptoms before they became obvious to others, and spent the following hours in my quarters.”

“Meditating?” he asked in a nonchalant tone. Like hell, she was meditating. He had seen her drunk. He once had to remove her from Holodeck where she - unstable on her feet, cross-eyed, and sexy as hell - was “researching” dancing with Fred Aster and Mata Hari. Also, Vulcans didn’t lie. So, all she could do now ignore his question, or…

“No, I was not able to concentrate enough to meditate.” The green spread to the ears and down the long elegant neck. Damn it, he loved these swan neck collars on her.

“Hm...” he drew out pensively. “And what did you do then, Ambassador? What were you thinking about with all that sucrose coursing your blood? Was I featured?” Why was he asking, and leaning to her ear, and shouldn’t he take his ridiculous flirting under control?

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, like a terrified Nimbus III horse.

“I...” she started, and then some loud noise came from the Eddalar table. They both whipped their heads, and he saw, like in a slow motion, Princess Berylium’s plate roll on the floor.

The Princess herself was flying through the room. Well, a comparison with a Skagaran giant squirrel glider would be more precise. She pounced, pushing off the floor with her strong legs, and crossed the room in just two leaps… and landed on top of P-Helium.

And then she slapped a small square of pastry out of his hand, with a loud ‘Don’t!’

Silence rang in the room. Berylium was panting, P-Helium was frozen. Two pairs of eyes were widened, while for some reason the Prince was still holding a full plate in his other hand. One could only admire the table manners the Phoebians possessed.

“That mushroom, ‘tis a known poison, Prince P-Helium. I could smell the noxious thing from across the room,” the Princess growled.

Thorington wasn’t sure the Prince heard her. No warm blooded male would from under that bosom opulence.


	5. Down and Up

Berylium bit her lip and tried to extricate herself from P-Helium’s grip. When did his ham sized hands make their way to her hips, anyway? Yet there she was, laid out on the warmest and fittest Phoebian mattress there was. Really, who allowed a Phoebian to be that built? Or that warm? Maybe it was all that sun sitting they did.

She finally got enough courage to look at a pair of laughing golden eyes. Golden, weren’t they blue earlier? Now she felt as dizzy as if she’d eaten the poisoned pastry. It wasn’t fair. She gathered all her courage up in both fists, and finally found her voice.

“My apologies, Prince P-Helium, but I knew not another way to reach you before you were poisoned.”

“Entirely my pleasure.” The voice rumbled, just as she remembered it. It did the same shivering dance down her nerves it had in the lift. So. Not. Fair. He eventually let up the incapacitating viselike grip on her hips, and helped her to her feet, so gentlemanly, and then floored her with another revelation.

“Although, I think you were slightly misinformed. That pastry was perfectly safe to eat, at least, for a Phoebian. The vitamin D is beneficial to us.”

“Oh dear.” If Berylium’s ears could droop any further, they’d probably drag the ground. “I am so sorry. To us, it’s a death sentence… I am so, so sorry.” Would it really be a world ending faux pas to run out of the room, hide in her nest, and never come out again?

“As misplaced as Princess Berylium’s actions were, I have to underline that it clearly should be perceived as a gesture of good will, and...” Ambassador W’Ren was interrupted by the good captain of the rumbly voice and scratchy beard wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her aside gently. It was obvious that it was the Captain’s log like arm around her that produced this very funny effect - the Vulcan was frozen mid sentence, mouth half open.

“Well, Ambassador and I will return to our discussion of soups,” the rumbly Captain announced in a cheery tone, “And you two go on discussing saving each other’s lives.”

The Vulcan closed her mouth with a clank of teeth, and allowed to lead her aside. Her back was very straight, and she looked as uncomfortable as a Vulcan can look, but moved her feet. The arm remained around her shoulders.

Berylium again had that sinking feeling, so like what she imagined the sacrifice to the Twin Moons felt so very long ago. Her trepidatious eyes turned to the crinkly and golden eyed prince who still hadn’t released her hands.

“I think, Captain, that would be an excellent idea.” Then P-Helium turned that dastardly gaze on her, how dare he! “Don’t you agree, Princess Berylium?”

“I, um, I… I… I already apologized!” It wasn’t a whine, nor a squeak, she was a proper princess of the Eddalar, thank you very much.

“Yes, but you just demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that one of your race could think beyond their own, and that is something even Uncle Nitrous cannot deny. Agreed, Uncle?”

The exhorted uncle grumbled something into his curly golden beard. Really, where were the color variations. So far, the fur seemed to come in gold, gold, and more gold. She steadfastly refused to listen to the little voice that insisted P-Helium’s gold was the nicest, though.

“What was that, Uncle?”

“One Eddalar’s actions does not speak for all Eddalar.”

“And yet, your Prince, does he not speak for all Phoebians? You mean to say not all Phoebians are as considerate, polite, and as intelligent? Do you mean to say I cannot trust him?” Berylium’s eyes narrowed as her voice warmed to her topic, and she could see the old Phoebian mentally scrambling.

“That is not what I said at all!” He protested.

“No, you simply insinuated that I was an untrustworthy example of my people. Which I then turned around on you. If you do not trust me, we are just wasting time. Let’s bring on the war and mutual destruction and be done with it.” Berylium had no clue where this sudden confidence came from, or why she felt empowered enough to verbally pounce the old counselor. He was now boggle eyed and visibly choking.

P-Helium still had not relinquished her hand. She cut her eyes to him, to see what he thought of her treatment of his uncle. His eyes were still crinkled at the edges, his chest suspiciously vibrating, and those eyes, which she would have sworn on her mother’s soul were blue earlier, still a brilliant and warm golden color. Who would have thought a Phoebian could be such a pleasant surprise?

“My lady, may I escort you back to the table? I think now we have some understanding upon which we can negotiate.” P-Helium still had her hand, and she was still feeling a little off center so she nodded her assent.  She let him lead them back to the table, going so far as to seat her like a proper gentleman.

Her uncle’s tail was waving merrily, which raised Berylium’s suspicions sky high. Precisely what had that old miscreant spotted to make him that merry? Her sister, on the other hand, still looked fighting mad. That was probably going to cause headaches, and why was that venom stare directed at her? Berylium shook her head, and got back to the business of negotiating peace.

***

“Computer, where’s Ambassador W’Ren?” Thorington inquired at the direction of the ceiling, and D’Wal made an unhappy Klingon sound nearby.

“Ambassador W’Ren is currently in her quarters,” the pleasant mechanical voice answered, and Thorington placed the new evidence in a container.

“Alright, I’ll go talk to Ambassador,” Thorington started, and the Klingon growled in a miffed tone. “She needs to be informed of the investigation development...” The growl intensified. “And perhaps additional security measures should be considered.”

Thorington understood, of course. He was the Klingon’s captain, and his friend, and D’Wal’s animosity towards W’Ren was justified. Thorington hadn’t been exactly in the best shape after their divorce. That was the problem with mates, really. They remembered the faults of one’s ex better that the person himself. In his case, he was seemingly developing amnesia - and quicker with each passing hour with her on board.

Thorington exhaled sharply and shook his head in disbelief. Damn the Vulcan, and her cat eyes, and prim and proper clobber, and the fringe... and the rest of her petite familiar self, damn it.

He rang her door, clutching the container with evidence in his hand, like a teen at the first date grasping a bouquet in a sweaty hand - but no answer followed. He rang again. She couldn’t be sleeping. He remembered her cat naps that used to freak him out. He’d be sleeping, and then wake up to a pair of open calm eyes in the darkness. She stayed in bed and… watched him. Cute and romantic, but creepy. And cute. Damn the Vulcan, and his good memory.

He rang couple more times; and was considering to override the lock when the door opened.

She had been meditating. He stared at the ceremonial robe, and the little black slippers. Not a hair out of place, of course, and eyes slightly clouded. Definitely meditating. Apparently, his ridiculous flirting at dinner had rattled her. Or maybe he was flattering himself, and there was some other reason.

“Please, come in, Captain.” She invited him in with a decorous gesture of her hand, and he stepped in.

He awkwardly froze in the middle of the room, and she walked up and faced him.

“How I can I help you?” He had a few ideas, none of which was logical, proper, or appropriate. Basically, none a Vulcan would approve in the current situation.

“My security had discovered new evidence.” He stretched the hand with the container to her. “Traces of the explosive used in the turbolift. The design of it was aimed to conceal the residue. The amount of the explosive compound was very smart, almost nothing could be found, but D’Wal was very thorough. The residue contains hypercaustic nitroglicerate. The quantities are minuscule, but as you know, it can be traced.”

She took step forward, picking up her tricorder on the way, and with a merry hiss the container lid slipped open. She then leaned in, scanning the residue, and he was staring at the glossy copper crown of the hair. He’d been wrong. There was a stray strand. Behind the right ear, an inch wide lock had a wave. And something loudly conked out in Captain’s noggin.

The problem was that he might have been the only person in the universe - with the exception of her parents - who knew that the Vulcan had curly hair. Soft, carrot coloured springs. And he bloody knew what they felt like between his fingers.

“If we scan the shuttle crafts both delegations arrived on for the traces of hypercaustic nitroglicerate,” the unsuspecting Vulcan was droning at the background, while the Captain was futilely trying to push some air into his lungs, down his suddenly constricted throat. The tricorder beeped cheerily. Damn the tricorder. Damn the Vulcan. “We can make an educated guess who was the culprit.”

“Uh-huh,” the Captain answered articulately.

“The inspection would have to be performed manually, I assume. I do not expect the bioscans of the vessel to trace the chemical in such minuscule quantities.”

The air finally reached Thorington’s lungs - and then some. The breath was shuddered, and the next exhale escaped him like a punctured tire of a Proxcinian’s skimmer. The next inhale was just as spasmodic.

Thorington ordered himself to stop hyperventilating like an Andorian youth before their shelthreth. He was a grown up man, and that was his ex-wife in front of him! His obtuse, unaware, damn Vulcan ex-wife!

“Captain, are you in physical pain?” the Vulcan asked in an even voice, without raising her eyes off the tricorder. Damn right, he was in pain. “Your breathing is suggestive of an increased level of adrenaline and dopamine. I can hypothesise that you are either in physical pain, or aroused.”

She wasn’t wrong, really. He was currently both.

And then a delicate hand flew up, and she tucked her hair behind the ear - the thick, perfectly straight side of her bob. And then the tips of the long strong fingers brushed down her neck, and he sucked a loud breath in. He bloody loved this gesture, and the neck! God, how he loved the neck!

And then she lifted her eyes at him, and there was something there besides the scientific interest towards the sample in the container.

“So, what is it, John? Hypothesis A or B?” she asked, her face calm, and yet hardly expressionless. Quite contrary - there was an expression, and he considered pinching himself when he realised which expression it was.

“You’re doing it on purpose!” he exclaimed in shock. “The hair and the neck… thing!” He accompanied his holler with a convulsive flail of his hand in the proximity of her neck. Damn the neck! “You know I’m affected, and you’re… teasing me!”

“I have hypothesized that you still find me sexually attractive, and proceeded to test the theory.” Only a Vulcan could say that with a straight face! “Am I right to deduce that your physical arousal strives from your still present romantic feelings towards me?”

Thorington shortly wondered if his eye was twitching visibly. And she’d called him ‘John!’

“What is wrong with you?” he shouted, and before she could answer he started jerkily shake his head. “Don’t answer this. I’m sure you’ll tell me you’re as fit as a fiddle. W’Ren, you can’t just do this! Of course I still… have feelings for you. We have established it, haven’t we? In the lift, and then in the sickbay, and then during the daft talk we had in my office...”

“My feelings towards you have remained the same as well,” she announced levelly, and his blabbering came to an abrupt stop. “And I have reconsidered our romantic situation, and decided to inform you that I find our separation disappointing.”

“Disappointing?!” he croaked out, as if choking on an especially dry scone.

“Yes. I had assumed that the termination of our relationship would be preferable to the state our marriage was at the time. The period that followed had resulted in more emotional discomfort for me than the most unsuccessful months of our association. Being on board of _SS Erebor_ and interacting with you had made me significantly more content.”

Now, his eye was definitely twitching.

“Are you saying..?” Thorington had to squint to filter all her verbose babble to get to the point. “Are you saying you’ve missed me, still love me, and want to get back together?” The habit of putting her logical Vulcan thoughts and thoroughly hidden Vulcan passions into emotional lingo was apparently still there.

“In simplified terms, yes.” To anyone else she’d look as stone-faced as always. He could see a flicker of hope in the slanted eyes. Thorington was meanwhile having a quiet aneurysm.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it, and then opened again. The Vulcan studied his expression.

“John, I would like to hear your opinion on the subject, but first, I feel you lack some factual information, and I would like to ask for your permission to clarify certain aspects of our past. As you know...”

That was about as far as she got when he called her ‘a nonsensical woman,’ cupped her face, and kissed her. Damn her talking and damn the explanations!

She twitched in his arms, and there might have been even a muffled mumble - she was apparently adamant about informing him of something or other - but he decided that could wait. She agreed with him in about two seconds, when she stretched flush along his body and up, wrapping her arms around his neck. And then she sighed into his lips - that was usually his signal that the Vulcan was toast - and pressed into him tighter.

“Ashayam...” he muttered, and quickly kissed her cheeks. He could feel the cheekbones and the pointy ear heat up under his lips, and his head spun.

“John, I need to tell you...” the Vulcan attempted again, but he was having none of it. No more talking! Kissing! Kissing his Vulcan! And look, there was another sigh, and with a small moan at the end! Still got it, didn’t he?

And then the comm unit bleeped on his chest, and she immediately started pulling away.

“Captain, it’s Dr Baggins! There has been an accident!” Thorington took a sharp step away from W’Ren.

“Report, Dr Baggins!”

“Princess Berylium is in the sick bay, Captain. She’s been poisoned!”


	6. Treats and Talks

Berylium laid in her comfy nest. The bedding, pillows, and blankets arranged for her maximum comfort, but it did not help the restless energy that insisted on keeping her up. She tossed, rolled, and finally propped herself on a large fuzzy purple pillow to address what was really keeping her up, a pair of bright gold eyes and a warm hand.

Negotiations had gone swimmingly, even though her uncle’s laughter and her sister’s fuming provided a constant background distraction. P-Helium and she had managed to sort most of the issues causing both races distress. Strangely enough, there was little overlap in the resources each race used, except that usually the resource the Eddalar needed was right on top or beside the resource the Phoebians used.

Throughout the talks, those golden eyes never left hers, and that warm hand never relinquished hers. It was disconcerting. More than once she found herself hunting for a point or issue she had at the forefront of her thoughts before these talks started, but had been scattered to the winds by that unwavering regard. It was embarrassing! 

Berylium rolled again in her bed, kneading the pillow to within an inch of its life. Her stomach growled, reminding her how little lunch she actually ate, and she completely missed dinner due to butterflies in her stomach. It was time to raid the kitchens. Berylium rolled out of her bed and headed out.

Since both races were fairly new to the Federation and their home planet was literally right there, a proper kitchen had been arranged for both species. Berylium managed to root out lunchtime leftovers in the cooling unit. 

Berylium found her way blocked by a solid mass behind her. She couldn’t tell what it was, as she was half in the unit with both hands full of her favorite rutanga pudding.

“Sorry, that’s not the end that sees. Apologies for running over you.”

“That’s quite alright. I was hoping to alert you before you resurfaced.” P-Helium laughed lightly at the sudden ‘Thwang!’ in the cooling unit as Berylium startled.

“Before you hit your head.”

“Just a tiddle bit too late.” Berylium pulled herself and her prize out with all the decorum she could manage after beaning herself on the unit shelf. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it considered bad manners to sneak up on someone?”

“Possibly.” Gold eyes crinkled at her in mirth, and dimples! Who allowed this Phoebian to have dimples! “But it is entirely too entertaining, when the person in question responds as you did.”

“I’ll remember that when I get the chance to return the favor.” Berylium sniffed. She set the pudding down next to the rest of her foraged goodies.

“What is all this?” P-Helium eyed her feast with frank curiosity. Apparently, the Prince of the Phoebians had never had cause to see what the Eddalar eat.

“Well, for some strange reason, my lunch got interrupted, and then, for some other reason, I could barely eat supper.” There was no mistaking the accusation in Berylium’s voice, even if it did have a teasing lilt to it.

“Positively frightful situation. However, it seems you have things well under way to correct such a sad plight.” P-Helium sat down at the table, making himself comfortable.

“Yeah, it’s a good spread. I’ll probably need help?” Berylium looked up shyly to P-Helium. “I have no idea, though, if any of it’s safe for you to eat.”

“Quite alright. We’ll take it item by item. You tell me what the ingredients are, and I’ll tell you if any are indigestible.” He helped himself to a plate and fork, and eyed the pot in her hand.

“That sounds wonderful. For example, this marvelous thing is a rutanga pudding.” Berylium pulled the pudding closer to her chest, and stroked the pot lid like it was some furry pet in her lap.

“Are we discussing the same plant? That horrid, smelly root?” P-Helium’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his mane, and his lip curled.

“Quiet you, that’s a staple of our diet you’re talking about there. This happens to be my favorite dessert. Rutanga, elani juice, morelbutter, and tlingit milk. It is the Twin Moons own gift to tastebuds.” Berylium sighed in joy, then eyed him speculatively. “So, any of that dangerous to you?”

“No, I cannot say that it is. Nor can I say it sounds all that appetising, either,” P-Helium admitted.

“Open your mouth, and then tell me after you taste it.” Berylium had a loaded spoon with the pudding before his lips before he could offer another protest. P-Helium took the bite hesitantly, and then moaned in appreciation.

“Sun above, are you sure you’re not all sorcerers? That is actually tasty.”

“Toldja.” Berylium took her own bite, and then fed another to P-Helium. “It has always been one of my favorites growing up. No matter how mad, sad, or whatever, rutanga pudding always fixed it.”

“Mood enhancers?” P-Helium eyed the pot with its quickly disappearing contents. He was doing his fair share of demolishing the pudding, too.

“No, I think it just tastes that good, is all.”  

“Fair enough. What item is next on our smorgasbord?”

“Can you eat meat?”

“We can, though we don’t generally do so?” 

“Wanna try a skadat roast?”

“How is it seasoned?”

“Human seasonings.” Berylium wrinkled her nose. “The season rack was  left behind, for some reason. Our cooks had to make do with the closest approximations the Federation had available. Unless you have a problem with sage or black pepper, there shouldn’t be anything questionable.”

“As long as they did not use red pepper.” His voice was adamant, leaving no room for argument. It shivered right on down Berylium’s spine in all the nicest of ways. 

“You can’t eat red pepper?”

“No, I just don’t care for it.” They shared a laugh, and then shared the roast. They got quiet for a moment, each thinking almost loud enough to hear.

“So, in the lift.” Berylium smiled at the purely male groan across from her. “You didn’t lie, did you?”

“No, I did not, not about any of it.” P-Helium regarded her solemnly.

“And you didn’t tell me expressly who you were to keep me from freaking out.” She schooled her face, in case she didn’t like the answer.

“To be fair, you did ‘freak out’ as you say, when you found out.” Berylium huffed in indignation at his cocksure tone.

“Do the words ‘lie of omission’ mean anything to you? Maybe I might have freaked out, or maybe, I dunno, since I’m an intelligent woman, it would have been fairly clear to me that the dashing Phoebian trying to get me out of the collapsing lift wasn’t an enemy?”

“Do you truly think me dashing?” 

Berylium thumped her head on the counter. Clearly, someone was having a typical male moment. Then she heard the chuckle. The cad, he was teasing her. When it made him laugh like that, she couldn’t say exactly she minded much. The butterflies were back, and they were having a heyday in her stomach.

“I find you intelligent, courageous, and infinitely interesting.” P-Helium’s words stopped Berylium cold, her wide eyes frozen on his blue gaze turning golden as she watched. Interesting.

“Your eyes,” Berylium blurted, and felt her cheeks flame.

“What about them?” He was again doing that unwavering watching thing he did earlier during the meeting.

“They just turned gold.”

“Did they?” 

“Yes.” She wasn’t expecting the rolling chuckles. The rising color in his own cheeks told her as much as their subdued nature they were the self deprecating sort. “Does it mean something, that your eyes turned gold?”

“It does.”

“Well, are you going to tell me, or just sit there laughing at yourself?” 

“It means I wish to court you.”

“Wait.” Berylium cocked her head at him and as the meaning sunk in she yelped. “What?”

P-Helium looked at his hands on the counter, as they folded and refolded themselves together. He shrugged. “Merely a biological reaction to encountering compatible and most definitely alluring pheromones.”

“Compatible pheromones?” Berylium parroted faintly. Oh, that explained a lot. It explained Uncle’s high humor and Derylium’s fuming fits all afternoon. She’d been giving off pheromones, and Prince P-Helium, of all people, reacted.

P-Helium’s brow knotted, apparently she didn’t quite respond the way he expected. “Do not misunderstand me. I find you alluring for yourself. All the pheromones in the world would not have turned my head, were you any less than the marvelous and intelligent lady you are.”

“Are you going to do something about it?” The butterflies had kicked up their shenanigans, and now, Berylium could feel a sweat breaking out on her brow. It almost reminded her of the day she was caught out in the sunrise, almost.

“That will depend.”

“On?”

“If you wish for it.”

Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? Did she want him to? He’d only been taking up three quarters or more of her thoughts since the grand rescue from the lift, hadn’t he? And hadn’t she been lying in her bed, too tangled to eat, thinking about gold eyes and warm hands?

Did she want him to?

“I think... I think I’d like that.”

It was barely a whisper, but it was enough to practically launch P-Helium from his side of the table to hers. His lips, if possible, were even warmer than his hands, and they were soft against her own, nimble and skilled as they worked her mouth open to seemingly steal her very breath. Her hands tangled in that thick, wavy mane. It ran like silk between her fingers, soft and deliciously heavy.

Berylium felt her world shift as he lifted her bodily into his lap, his arms wrapped securely around her, squeezing her close to a broad chest, rumbling his pleasure at having her there. She couldn’t say she minded so much, especially since it gave her more reach to explore him.

Her fingers went walking through his hair to gently run along a delicately pointed ear hidden in the wealth. His chest rumbled again, but this time, it was a laugh!

‘You’re laughing? Why?”

“Oh no, I will not give you more ammunition than you already possess to use against me.” Oh, those words against her temple, feeling those nimble lips there, made the butterflies take flight again. She swiped her brow, and noticed her hands were trembling. Was he having this effect on her? 

“Ammunition? What ammunition?” Berylium scoffed into his shoulder. He really was comfortable for cuddling. 

“You, Princess, have made yourself at home in my thoughts entirely too easily.” He shifted her so they could look each other in the eye, and she took the presented opportunity to learn his face. 

He had expressive blue eyes that would crinkle with good humor at the least opportunity. There was the  typical long and broad Phoebian nose. Leonine, she had learned when introduced to the earth felines. He had a broad, thoughtful brow and a determined chin, all which spoke well of a prince that, somehow, seemed to hold the same regard for her. 

And he was, supposedly, of a race that hated all her and her kind. How did this happen? She let her head fall against his comforting bulk, letting her thoughts whirl for a moment.

It wasn’t just her thoughts. The room itself seemed to be spinning now. Something was wrong with her.

“P-Helium, I think…” Berylium slumped down against him, her weight dragging her hands finally out of his hair. “I need medbay.”

***

Berylium sounding so weak had him moving before he could properly think.  He had her up in his arms and out the door, headed straight for a lift.  He raced down the corridor to medbay, still in a haze of worry. 

“What’s the situation?” The medic on duty was all business, quietly listening as P-Helium described the collapse in terse factual observations, the medic all the while scanning her vitals and bloodstream with a miniature tricorder. 

“Well, your descriptions are consistent with vitamin D poisoning. The question being, how did it happen?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find out. Alert the Captain and Ambassador W’Ren.” P-Helium sat down next to Berylium’s pod and held her hand, thoughts furiously whirling. When and how was she poisoned with Vitamin D? Was it his fault?


	7. A Solution for All Problems

Leaving Princess Berylium and Prince P-Helium in the med bay, Thorington and W’Ren headed to the shuttle hangars.

“If indeed this was vitamin D poisoning, the medics might be unable to save the princess,” W’Ren noted, and saw unease twist John’s features. She understood he found it difficult to stay unemotional in the current situation, but she trusted his professionalism.

“Then we need to find the culprit faster,” he muttered. “If we end up with a dead dignitary on our hands, I’d rather have someone to blame for it.”

His tone was familiar, and W’Ren quickly went through her mental inventory of his intonations. This one was ‘sardonic and venomous, hiding sincere concern underneath.’

“Given the Eddalar’s intolerance to sunlight induced chemical processes, I presume they have an extensive research data on the subject,” W’Ren offered a consolation.

“Not according to their medical officer,” Thorington gritted through his teeth, and barked at the lift controls to take them to the shuttle bay.

***

Dwal, summoned by Thorington, was waiting for them near the shuttles that the delegations had taken. W’Ren greeted the Klingon with a nod, and received a scowl in return. W’Ren understood that her former spouse’s security officer had a low opinion on her, but as usual she considered it irrelevant.

“This one is the Phoebians one.” Dwal pointed at the first shuttle.

Thorington pulled out the explosives sample from his pocket, and started adjusting his tricorder’s settings to match the chemical composition of the evidence. W’Ren stood near him, using the moment to organise her thoughts.

She hadn’t expected their attempted reconciliation to affect her so profoundly. She had anticipated to find her emotions unsettled, and she had planned to take additional time in meditation that night, but evidently she had underestimated the effect such interaction with Captain Thorington could have on her.

Two factors seemed to have contributed into her agitated state. Firstly, they had not reached a closure in their conversation. Led by his flawed human character, John hadn’t allowed her to explain herself. She, of course, didn’t object to the physical contact they had proceeded to after he had interrupted her. Having accepted that in an association with a human, she was to make changes to her mating practices, W’Ren had learnt to enjoy the said practices. Using John’s overly emotional and colloquial vernacular, he was ‘driving her mad’ and ‘turned her into a puddle of squealing adoration.’ Once again, his words, not hers.

So, it was only logical to assume that the fact that they have not consummated their reunion was a contributing factor into her current perturbed state.

Secondly, they had not completed their conversation, specifically failing to clarify certain aspects of their past. W’Ren gave it a proper consideration, in the seven and a half seconds John had spent setting the tricorder. Since he was presently scanning the sample of the explosives, she made a logical conclusion that they still had enough time to resolve a certain misunderstanding, which would further benefit their renewed accord.

W’Ren folded her hands behind her back and spoke in her habitual even tone, “I have not had an extramarital association of a sexual nature with Commander Riker.”

Thorington’s movements ceased. In his vernacular, he ‘froze’ and his eyes ‘boggled.’ And then he slowly lifted his face and looked at her.

“ _Maw' tok!_ ” Dwal emitted at the background.

W’Ren studied John’s face. She expected emotions. She saw none. His eyes were blank and glassy, and W’Ren assumed further explanations were required.

“When you hypothesised that I had indeed acted unfaithfully in our marriage, I had not opposed to your accusations. Our relationship at the time was strained emotionally, and I made a logical conclusion that since trust seemed to have been missing in it as well, it was beneficial to both of us to cease it. So, when you asked me whether it was true that I had been disloyal, I did not deny it. Since Vulcans do not lie, I did not confirm your suspicions. And your believing my silence to be the proof of my fault had only confirmed to me...”

“Would you mind kindly to stop talking?” Thorington interrupted her. His voice was lower and raspier than usual. W’Ren had learnt to recognise it as a sign of him being ‘close to choking her.’ His words just as before.

Dwal made a low growling noise and walked away from them, in a futile attempt to seem busy with his tricorder.

W’Ren waited for an invitation to continue talking, but none followed. Thorington blinked, inhaled, exhaled, and clenched, and unclenched his jaw.

“W’Ren, I...” he started, and then stopped, covering his mouth with his large hand. “I don’t know what to say to you… And bloody hell, in the middle of an attempted murder investigation? Really, W’Ren?” He shook his head.

That W’Ren could understand. “I apologise for the untimely conversation. I have to admit, I am… emotionally compromised. I should have chosen a more appropriate moment for it.”

“You don’t say...” Thorington looked at his tricorder, but then he exhaled noisily and lowered the device. His bright blue eyes met hers. “How compromised?”

W’Ren felt the unfortunately insuppressible blush to spill on her cheekbones and the tips of her ears.

“Surpassingly,” she admitted, and he gave her a long stare. “I once again apologise for...”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. That’s your equivalent of clinging to my sleeve and giving me a lovey-dovey look. Just...” He gave out another puff of air. “Give me a jiffy, alright?”

Three seconds later, he seemed to have reached a certain emotional balance.

“Alright, W’Ren, let’s wrap it up quickly, since we have an intergalactic scandal brewing onboard. But neither of us will be able to fully devote oneself to solving it, since you’re… surpassingly emotionally compromised, and I feel like my head is going to bloody explode any second and splatter my grey matter on the walls.” He flared his nostrils. W’Ren felt grateful for his understanding, but decided to keep it to herself, since just allowing him to talk would surely resolve the matter quicker.

“You didn’t sleep with Riker,” Thorington pronounced slowly.

“I have not. Neither have I...”

“Yeah, yeah, you didn’t do the nasty, I get it. I was using the verb in its... euphemistic meaning.” He rubbed the back of his neck. It took W’Ren additional one point two seconds to suppress the thought of the sensation of his palm on her skin. “And if I know you well enough - and I think I do - you made me think you had because you felt this marriage was bad for me. That was your perverse Vulcan sense of duty and love for me that made you put me through hell...” He stopped himself and proceeded to take three deep breaths calming himself.

Thorington was clearly feeling increasingly angry. Anger was the emotion W’Ren found the easiest to discern.

“I assumed that a separation would ameliorate your quality of life,” W’Ren answered. She had detected a certain degree of emotional discomfort in her mind - she was having trouble anticipating John’s reaction. And she was hoping for a favourable one.

“Then why are you… doing it now? Telling me the truth?” He frowned, and W’Ren felt something akin to worry. Vulcans didn’t worry, of course. And yet, she suddenly wished she had been more... human. The thought was absurd, and yet it came. “I mean, we get back together, and then it just goes back to what it was like before. We have trouble communicating, and we’re back to the aggro we were in,” he said in a dark tone.

“I will endeavour to do better,” W’Ren said quickly, almost interrupting him. The latter would be inconceivable for a Vulcan, but she needed to convince him! He gave her a long studying look.

W’Ren’s composure, to her shame, was slipping. She noted several psychosomatic symptoms of emotional disequilibrium. Her hands were displaying a slight tremour. The speed of her breathing had increased. And if she were human, she would say she was feeling ‘dangerously close to tears.’ Thankfully, she was a Vulcan.

Thorington’s face softened.

“I’m not saying ‘no,’ ashayam. I just… Why now?”

“Upon seeing you again after the time spent in separation...” W’Ren started, and then suddenly some strange spasm constricted her throat, and she took a laboured breath in. The next words were as unexpected, as they were uncharacteristic. “I couldn’t help it.” Judging by John’s widened eyes and dilated pupils, he shared her assessment of the sudden proclamation. “And if with time, we… reach the same level of dissatisfaction in our relationship, I will still consider the second attempt... worth it.”

And then to fully confirm to both of them that she seemed to have dishonourably forgotten any propriety and her Vulcan upbringing, she made a step forward and pressed her forehead to his chest.

“ _Maiya, talukh-John..._ ” she whispered. _Please, beloved John._

She felt his hand cradle her head, the palm brushing at the short hair underneath the bob; and she sighed. Vulcans didn’t plead either, but perhaps wise Vulcans could make an exception in crucial matters.

“W’Ren...” he called, and she readily looked up at him. He probably needed to see the emotions in her eyes, and for once in her life, she did not feel like hiding them. Loving a human was surely ‘rubbing off on her.’ He gave her a warm smile. “I say, giving it another try would be… logical.”

It was W’Ren’s turn to react with a confused blink. Thorington guffawed and quickly kissed her forehead.

“That was a ‘yes,’ ashayam.”

Something quietly squeaked inside W’Ren. She had not been aware she was capable of producing such pitiful sound. Thorington shook his head, leaned in, and kissed her. The kiss was regrettably short.

“Attempted murder investigation, W’Ren,” Thorington reminded her, straightening up. W’Ren nodded jerkily. His physical attentions seemed to impede her motor skills.

“I am...” She cleared her throat. “Using your usual terminology, I am ‘dazed.’” Thorington chuckled, and tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I apologise. I will require up to three seconds to… bring myself to order.”

It took four. Thankfully, John had stepped to Dwal, giving her a chance to do a breathing exercise. She then took out her tricorder, and joined them at the Phoebian shuttle.

***

P-Helium sat quietly beside Berylium, hands clasped tightly so they wouldn’t twitch, watching her fight to stay alive. He’d overheard the med techs’ discussion. Her prognosis was alarming. There had to be an answer, and he’d find it.

Several thoughts finally collided in a meaningful way, giving him an idea. P-Helium moved to an unused workstation. “Computer, pull up a map highlighting the current Phoebian mines and largest Eddalar warrens, please”

“Map compiled, Phoebian mines are highlighted in yellow, Eddalar Warrens are demarcated in blue.” The perfectly enunciated computer voice wouldn’t be out of place on any floating city. It had always had a calming effect on him. “Computer, correlate tales of Eddalar surviving sun-poisoning with where they supposedly occurred.”

“Compiled and highlighted.”

“Computer, highlight any known but untapped deposits of getherium.”

“Compiling.” P-Helium curbed the urge to drum his fingers, at the pinpricks slowly filled in, confirming his growing hypothesis. “Computer, is Delegate Strontium available?”

“Sir, Delegate Strontium is currently waiting in the family room of the Eddalar Ambassadorial Suite.”

“Please inquire if he would be willing to speak with me on a possible treatment for the Princess Berylium?” A musical double note let the prince who was still not drumming his fingers in impatience know his request was being delivered. He also did not nearly jolt when the computer finally answered.

“Sir, Delegate Strontium will be waiting for you in the Meeting room.” P-Helium was out the door before the computer could finish talking.

***

“Alright you pompous poncy philandering phoebian, what is this about? How would you know anything about treating Sun-poisoning?” The princess’s uncle was not pulling punches, and his entire stance radiated his hostility. P-Helium was rather relieved, but kept his poise. It wasn’t him, then.

The techs had tested everything, including, to his extreme embarrassment, if enough vitamin D had been left in his mouth to affect the princess. Someone had poisoned the dessert. That meant it was someone that knew how much the princess loved the dessert, and how to mask the vitamin so Eddalar senses couldn’t detect it. That considerably narrowed the field of suspects.

“Computer, please pull up the compiled map for Delegate Strontium.”

The holographic map sprang to life before the Eddalar’s eyes, and his body language slowly changed as he thoughtfully stroked his beard while studying it. “Alright lad, show me what I’m looking at. Looks to be a hatchet job ye’ve done so far.”

“It occurred to me there had to be a reason for the high correlation of getherium mines and Eddalar warrens. Your three biggest and oldest practically overlapping our three most productive mines. I then correlated all the instances of severe sun-poisoning survivors.” P-Helium then outlined several small dots. “Add in the unmined getherium deposits, there’s even a higher correlation. I want to give her a dose of getherium.”

“Aye, looks like Berylium saved herself again.” At the twitched eyebrow, Strontium laughed outright. “ Berylium uploaded a store of our history and folklore, once she got her hands on Federation resources. “To save them for posterity.” How else you think this fancy computer could show you the survivors of sun-poisoning?” Strontium turned back to regard the map. “You glackits. Why do ye’ have to suppress all your best traits?”

This time, P-Helium allowed faint polite curiosity to color his face, inviting the old Eddalar to continue. It didn’t take much. “Look at this, lad. Ye’ve a fair noodle, I’ll give ye that, and ye put it to good use. An’ I’ve a fair notion ye wouldna ha’ done it, were ye not head o’er heels for her. Emotions lad, make them work for ye, don’ bury ‘im where they can’t do bugger all.” Strontium gave a decisive nod, as if he’d said all he meant to say. He flicked an expansive hand at the map. “Give your information to Medical. Ye have me blessin’ to try it. Save my  lassie.”

Medical Bay was buzzing with activity. Samples of pure getherium were brought on board, tests with pure vitamin d, blood draws, tests with those blood draws and getherium, until a proper dosage and delivery system were finalized. Dr. Baggins held the hypospray to Berylium’s shoulder.  His nose twitched, his only indication of nerves. “Right then, here we go.” The rhythmic beeps of the monitoring systems were the sounds to be heard while they waited to see the medicine would work or not.

Lashes fluttered, ears twitched reflexively, and bright luminous eyes opened.

Berylium looked around and gave out a wide yawn.

“Hey, what’d I miss?”


	8. Shoot out in the OK Hanger Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gasp! What's this? A long awaited chapter?
> 
> Can it be?
> 
> Sorry people. Life knocked both of us in the heads for entirely too long, but things are starting to look better, and there's only one more chapter after this. Promise, and we won't make you wait that long again.

 

“What’d I miss?” 

P-Helium laughed in relief, sinking down to rest his head on the bed next to her.

“Okay, other than hallucinations, what am I looking at?” Berylium watched the suddenly relaxed Phoebian half sprawled on her bed with something approaching sheer amazement. Since when did Phoebians unbend?

“I nearly lost you. I’d just found you, and I nearly lost you. It was no accident that put you in here.” P-Helium wrapped one of her suddenly nerveless hands up in his large, warm palm. “Your favorite dessert was poisoned with vitamin D by someone that knew how to hide it from Eddalar senses. Someone that knew your fondness for the dessert. I’m sorry, Berylium. I can at least rule your uncle out.”

Berylium’s breath came out in a choked sob. Someone close to her wanted her dead? P-Helium thought someone…”No, you must be mistaken, who’d want me dead? Why?” She’d ponder over his possessiveness another time. They’d only shared a moment, did Phoebians really fall as hard and fast as Eddalar?  That was asking for too much of a miracle.

“If there are those violently opposed to this peace among the Phoebians, I can’t imagine all of the Eddalar are taking this change with good grace?” P-Helium had not relinquished her hand, though he had righted himself enough to pull her into his lap. While one hand kept hers safely enfolded, the other seemed to be running over her to check she truly was better… or just assuring himself she was here, whole, and talking to him. Rather than puzzle it all out now while her mind was still somewhat sluggish, she laid her head on his comfortable shoulder, and sighed heavily.

“No, there is a very vocal and distinct faction viciously opposed to the peace talks. I just didn’t think any of them were amongst my House.”

P-Helium hesitated. He did not want to be the one to broach the likelihood the traitor was closer even than that. Berylium read his silence anyway.

“No! You can’t be serious!” Berylium sat up, pulling her hand free to shake her finger in his face. “You do not get to accuse my family of attempted murder.”

“I said nothing!”

“You implied!”

“I implied nothing! I have only stated that the poisoner had to be close enough to know your love of pudding, have access to your food supplies, and smart enough to disguise it against Eddalar senses.”

Berylium sniffled against his shoulder. “That doesn’t leave a lot of options.” She quieted against him, nuzzling in and blowing out a heavy sigh. “And you have ruled out Uncle Strontium?”

“Yes, he was instrumental in finding the cure.” He’d keep the rest of their talk to himself.

“It was more than that, wasn’t it? A clever poisoner would have figured this attempt a lost cause, and cover their tracks however they might.”

Did she have to be that perceptive already? P-Helium shifted in his chair. “Yes,  there was more to it than just that.”

“It’s my sister, isn’t it?”

“She has the most to gain. If you are gone, she takes the throne. She’s the most likely to know all your habits, and had the most opportunity to learn how to mask vitamin D from you.”

“I hate it, but it makes sense, especially with how angry she’s been. She’s my sister, though!” Berylium’s eyes narrowed, her tears suddenly done.  She slid off P-Helium’s lap and stalked out the door, claws extended.

That was cause for concern, and P-Helium tapped his communicator. “Send a security detail to the Eddalar Ambassadorial suites, there may be a disturbance there momentarily.”

“On whose authority are ye askin’ then?” P-Helium’s lips quirked at the familiar lilt. 

“O’Bofurs, is that you?”

“Sakes alive, is that you Philly-me-lad?” 

The quirk turned into a full blown smile. “I’m currently following one infuriated Princess about to confront her sister. You may want to send that security detail post haste.”

“Already in route, though you may want to change course, once you catch your princess, of course.”

“Why is that, O’Bofurs?” P-Helium was having to jog after Berylium.

“There’s been shots fired in the Hangar Bay. Eh, the ones with the Dathan shuttles.”

“On our way.” P-Helium hastened his stride, quickly gaining on the near running Berylium grumbling to herself as she ran down the corridor. “You may want to follow me. I surmise your sister was attempting escape from the interesting conversation I just had with security.”

***

Thorington peeked from around the corner of a shuttle, and immediately jerked back, since another shot from the Eddalar pulsar gun grazed the hull near his temple.

“I estimate the likelihood of our survival in this altercation has just dropped down to 45.3%,” his Vulcan stated in an even tone near him; and he threw her a meaningful look. “We could improve the odds if I attempt to retreat behind those crates, and divert the attackers’ attention, while you advance.”

“You have no weapon, W’Ren! I’m not using my newly acquired wife as a distraction,” Thorington gritted through his teeth, and peeked again.

“We have not renewed our vows, captain, so from the legal point of view, I cannot be considered...” the Vulcan continued droning at the background. Thorington once again hid behind the shuttle, and then turned to W’Ren. She stopped her blabbering and closed the mouth sharply. 

John looked at the other end of the hangar. Dwal lay splayed, having taken a shot from Princess Derylium’s weapon. He was alive, Thorington could see his security officer breathe, and the massive hands twitch occasionally.

He was studying the structures above the Eddalar who had take the position behind a row of storage containers, when W’Ren’s hand lay on his shoulder. He turned to her to ask if she had an idea, when suddenly she lunged ahead and pressed her lips to his. He had little time to feel surprised that she - a Vulcan, of all things - could feel amorous in the current situation; when she pushed away from him and dashed towards the aforementioned soil sample crates. 

Princess Derylium’s first shot sent sparks flying under W’Ren’s feet, missing the Vulcan by couple feet. Thorington retaliated. His phaser was on stun; but when the second shot made W’Ren emit a shrieky scream; he considered to reconsider.

“Ashayam?” he called to W’Ren.

“Surface wound to the left calf,” a loud clear answer was heard from behind the crates.

“Let me go, Captain!” the Princess shouted. “I have your Ambassador dead to rights, I won’t hesitate to step over her body to get to my shuttle!”

Duty and justice aside, Thorington probably would let the cursed Princess go; but if the Eddalar got away, he’d face a much more terrifying punishment - W’Ren’s displeasure. Thorington wasn’t prepared for a rightfully angered Vulcan.

“My officers are on their way, Your Highness. You won’t go far.” Another shot followed; and he saw that half of the crate W’Ren was hiding behind was now gone. W’Ren’s trick had gained him an opportunity to take out one of Derylium’s henchmen, but he was starting to worry that the Vulcan would run out of shelter faster than the Princess ran out of goons.

“Drop your weapon, Captain, and get in the shuttle with me,” the Eddalar ordered, “And I will spare your mate.”

Thorington carefully looked, and met W’Ren’s eyes. Her opinion on this proposition could clearly be seen in her eyes. He felt the familiar buzz in his head. She was trying to link their minds. It’s been five years, but he was surprised at how strong the connection immediately was. He shut his mind from her, just as she had taught him all those years ago. He knew what she’d say - to keep shooting never mind that her straight fringed head was at stake.

The shots had been heard, no doubt. They just needed to hold on a bit longer. 

He pushed the phaser along the floor towards the Princess; and a wave of the Vulcan’s emotions brushed at his mind. W’Ren was unhappy with his actions - and terrified. Be they in any other circumstances, he’d feel touched. The Vulcan was feeling worried, protective, and as much as begging him to stop. He’d enjoy being the object of her otherwise suppressed Vulcan passions - but they had a criminal to distract, an escape to stall, and hopefully eventually a traitor to apprehend.

He slowly walked from around the shuttle, making sure that a Ferengi snail would be faster than him. 

The Princess send another shot towards W’Ren.

“Hurry up, Captain! My patience is running low.”

Thorington was near the Eddalar now; and it was his last chance. He quickly sent a thought to W’Ren, in hopes that their shared agitated state would spur the mind link… and suddenly she jumped in her limited height and yelled, “Here!”

The only remaining henchman acted on instinct, and shot. Thorington lunged on the Princess. He had little chance to win in this wrestling match - the Eddalar were much stronger physically than humans - but he had the advantage of being in a well-lit room.

He didn’t know where W’Ren was, or what the other Eddalar was doing. He poured all his physical strength into the grasp he had on Derylium, but he was obviously losing. And then the Princess’ gun went off, and he felt excruciating pain tear at his shoulder.

And then more voices joined, and two phasers were discharged. He felt the Princess go limp in his arms; and then he swayed, the world went blurry, and the last thing he saw was W’Ren’s worried face. Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear - and then everything was dark.


End file.
